


Scream with a Laugh

by DidiTheDragon (fuckgravityimdavidtennantshair)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Art, Crimes & Criminals, Friends to Lovers, Graffiti, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Punk AU, Slow Burn, Vandalism, YahaShira Day 2018, but not really, gang rivalry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-05-20 14:10:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14896055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckgravityimdavidtennantshair/pseuds/DidiTheDragon
Summary: When they catch Yahaba, he isn't doing anything wrong.At least - nothing he thinks is wrong.Well, maybe a little bit.Yeah... it's kind of illegal.So what?





	1. Trouble

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShitabuKenjirou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShitabuKenjirou/gifts).



> Ah, my first haikyuu!! fic!
> 
> Bear with me, there's not much plot in the first chapter but I wanted to at least upload it for Yahashira day - the best holiday, really.  
> I dedicate this to Emrys, our sweet YahaShira Overlord! Thanks for motivating me to write this, I love you :)

You couldn’t really blame him for feeling restless.

When Yahaba had been brought in, a few of them had raised their heads from their desks, they had looked him up and down before their bored little eyes had settled on his face and had twinkled in recognition, in realization, in quiet resentment.

He had wanted to scoff at them, to taunt them, maybe. First and foremost, he had wanted to punch the one with an iron grip on his wrist. _If I twist my torso quickly and duck, I might be able to knee him in the balls._

All he had done then was roll his eyes and huff a little, and not for the first time in the last few weeks he had wished for his hair to be just a little longer. It would lose its adorable charm that sometimes got him out of unpleasant situations that lead to more unpleasant situations like this one, but he had been starting to learn the feeling of resentment inside and out. He wanted to be able to hide from the world, and the same way a four-year-old might close their eyes and think themselves invisible, he had wanted more than anything to let his hair fall into his face so that nobody could make eye contact with him if they tried.

He had tried to focus on that, not on the illogical, intense fear in his gut, but his hair, how it must have looked earlier that day, his bangs swaying in the breeze in lieu of sticking to his forehead with sweat, freshly cut from when Tooru hadn’t let him leave the garage without a decent cut. “It’s been too long, Shigeru-chan. We don’t want our precious artist’s pretty strands to have split ends, now do we?”

He had tried to cling to the image of Tooru, the toughest guy he knew, beaming when Yahaba had told him he would allow him to cut his hair for the first time. Tooru, who had always done everything he could to protect his friends. Tooru, who was probably worrying himself sick right now, whom he had let down by committing one stupid, completely avoidable rookie mistake.

It wasn’t the end of the world. It wasn’t like this had never happened before, it definitely would not be the last time.

But still.

After signing his inventory and confirming his name, birthday and address, he received a clap on the back that felt purposefully too strong and once again, his wrist was violently grasped as he was led into a small, dim room. They had made an effort to make it as uncomfortable and uninviting as possible, but to Yahaba, it looked like any waiting room, all right. There was one row of plastic chairs against each crumbling, pale yellow wall, the tiled floor paving the way to a certain corridor that he hadn’t planned on seeing again for at least another few weeks.

_Here we go again, I guess._

Another shove, this time in the direction of one of the chairs. Yahaba huffed again, purposefully turning around to face the pig that had arrested him, looking him dead in the eye as he walked along the corridor and took a seat on the stool the farthest away from the one that guy wanted him to sit in. With a little victorious smirk, he sat down and with all the dignity he could muster he slumped in his seat, because his cuffed hands sticking to his back were keeping him from sitting up straight.

Once again, he had managed to keep himself from punching someone’s fucking face in. To Yahaba, that was a victory.

Yahaba gave himself props for not breaking eye contact until the pig rolled his eyes and left the depressing waiting room, probably to clap himself on the back for catching another teenage delinquent, going back out with a partner to go play cat and mouse with someone else, or maybe to slump at his desk of exhaustion and sighing because of all that oh-so tedious paperwork before him. That guy would go home today, and concluding from his wedding ring, tell his wife all about his _backbreaking_ dayshift. Yahaba snorted a little to himself. _Oh, what a tiring day, honey. Yes, I had to do some running again. Those darn delinquents and their wild ideas. How lucky I can count myself for succumbing to this beautifully corrupt system so the human obligation to think for oneself doesn’t concern me anymore, society isn’t above me! Oh, is that vegetable soup on the stove?_

If you asked him, this was the worst part of being arrested. Throughout the whole procedure, this was the part where he was most alone with his thoughts. It was harder to keep distracting himself, it was harder to keep himself from panicking. Yahaba could vividly remember the first time it had happened – the sudden, intense migraine, his vision going white, something that felt like a seizure when he had realized there was no knowing what was going to happen next.

Now, the same kind of panic was there, but it was subdued, it was a fire held at bay with reason and expectations, so to speak. He knew what was going to happen, he knew what he would say and how he would sidestep questions he knew better than to answer truthfully. Everything gets easier with time, Yahaba guessed, though he wasn’t certain he could ever call this part of his life _easy_.

This had always been the part where he had to regain his focus so he could face the interrogation with a calm attitude and a cool head. Thoughts of his parents, of his little sister, were not necessary. However, in a situation like this one, he couldn’t help them. He knew they loved him, no matter what. He also knew that his parents had argued more than once about their son’s rough pastimes. He knew that they had told his sister not to talk to any of his friends, despite welcoming them into their home. Fuck, he knew full well that if his parents had the chance to change him, revert him into a perfectly normal rule-abiding school boy with little complaint about obedience and respect and authority, they would, they would do it in a heartbeat.

It shouldn’t matter, anyway.

He pushed these thoughts into the ground.

_Focus, you need to focus._

_“Be serious, but don’t let them think you respect them. Tell them what you were doing when they arrested you, and what you were doing the last few times it happened, but don’t talk about the others. Don’t let them make you feel inferior.”_

He played Hajime’s last words to him over and over in his mind, spoken hushed in a narrow alleyway as parting words because they both knew Yahaba was the only one they had seen “vandalizing”, thus being the only one they could take away, and because Hajime knew how strong the boy was – he just needed some reassurance. Iron backup, something he could fall back on when he lost his goddamn _focus_ and started thinking he couldn’t do it.

He _could_.

If only the guy who was thrown into the waiting room hadn’t interrupted his focus.

“I will slit your fucking throat if you touch me again.”

That sentence had made Yahaba look up from an inexplicable spot of grease on the floor – there really wasn’t a way it could have gotten there that he could think of – and he accidentally locked eyes with a certain vaguely familiar face.

The pig who had brought him in – a different one from Yahaba’s own captor, he noted – just rolled her eyes at the empty threat. The boy looked about Yahaba’s age, he seemed almost as tall and had a haircut that was, admittedly, better befitting his self-attributed unpaid profession.

He was as cute as the last time they’d seen each other.

As the woman turned to leave, the boy rattled his handcuffs against the plastic of his chair violently and let out a yell at being ignored. She swiftly turned around and fixed him with a look. “Sorry, kid, you brought this on yourself. You already made it clear that you won’t be following the rules so next time, for the love of God, be quiet or don’t get caught. Choose one,” she held up a finger, as if he were a daycare kid that needed to be reprimanded, “and don’t make my day harder on me just for doin’ my job. That sound good?” She raised her eyebrows, expecting her victim of verbal humiliation to confirm, to say “yes” or to nod or to look off to the side dejectedly.

He held eye contact and spat at her shoes.

From where Yahaba was sitting, he couldn’t really make out the look in that guy’s eyes, but he could feel the seething rage all the way across the room. Tooru had called him unusually empathetic once, and back then, Yahaba had laughed it off, because who wouldn’t show courage and emphasize with their friends, as close as they all were? Now, though.

Yahaba felt his blood boil. He had to resist the urge to vault across the room to physically fight that meter maid bitch when she looked at the floor in disgust, then back at the boy’s face, her features laced with more disgust, and said, “you should be transferred straight to jail. Maybe you’d learn a thing or two down there.” She turned to leave without as much as a glance back into the room, and when the door clicked behind her, Yahaba’s raging gaze was directed back to the pretty, angry boy in the chair. 

He wanted to spit out something about standing up for oneself, about controlling yourself, but when he tried to meet his eyes, the guy practically curled in on himself.

Something was wrong.

Careful not to lose his balance – but then again, not very careful at all – he stood up and walked across the room to take a seat next to his fellow punk. Halfway there, he raised his head and shot Yahaba an icy glare. “And what the exact fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Yahaba stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes seemed to have lost their rage from before, but there was something else in them now.

“You’re Shirabu, right?”

He flinched, which Yahaba took as confirmation, and took another cautious step forward. “I want to make sure you’re okay. Forget about the rivalry shit for a second and look at me properly.”

He did, and Yahaba immediately wanted to take a few steps back. Shirabu’s eyes were glazed over, they didn’t seem to be able to focus on Yahaba for more than a few seconds and his lips were trembling ever-so-slightly. At least now he knew he wasn’t the only person who tended to freak out exponentially about getting arrested.

Shirabu looked away again. “The fuck are you staring at? Go get ready to get shredded by the cops, or something.” Oh, so this guy didn’t want to talk. Too bad Yahaba didn’t care. He walked the rest of the way and sat down gently on the seat next to Shirabu’s. He leaned forward until his and Shirabu’s heads were next to each other, and gently rubbed his elbow against the other boy’s upper arm. It was an awkward position, if Yahaba was being honest, but thankfully, Shirabu seemed to understand his gesture as a comforting one. Shirabu craned his neck to the side and looked at Yahaba – his eyes were a bit confused now, perhaps, but some of the earlier tension was gone, and Yahaba was determined to get him to calm down completely. 

“Breathe, alright? Don’t think about these shiteaters now. Think about how…” Well, what the fuck did he like? Yahaba had no clue what exactly Ushijima’s crew was up to these days, but he did know that Shirabu was supposedly some kind of vandalism prodigy and that his graffiti works always managed to hit you hard, make you think until you crumble, without standing out much. It took some looking out and some patience, but you could really learn a thing or two from that guy. Naturally, it pissed Yahaba off, and Tooru more so. Even still, he needed to help Shirabu. He needed to distract him. “Think about how my friends are currently painting over your last atomic waste mural.”

A small gasp. “They would _not_.”

Triumphant, Yahaba realized he could get Shirabu to talk by riling him up. _How refreshing._ He nodded curtly and smirked, “That was totally my job before they fucking took me here. Sad how nobody really got to appreciate it, huh? Only been there for, what, two days?” He noticed Shirabu’s eyes getting a little clearer, a little wider. “A shame, really. Well, all art is temporary, it’s something you have to accept, I guess, when they make art both an illegal thing and a competitive activity.” Another glance. Shirabu was looking at him now.

“Nobody ever said art was a competitive activity,” Shirabu defended, straightening and waiting for Yahaba to do the same. He did, because this conversation was about to become more interesting than he’d hoped. “If you put it like that, it must always have been some sort of competition – an art style calls for backings. You can’t make all artists in the world who follow the same ideals cooperate, no matter how idyllic that sounds. It’s always been a competition, if you choose to see it like that.” He paused, probably deciding on his next words. Shirabu furrowed his brows a little bit and squinted into the artificial overhead lights, Yahaba waited. “I think – I think the idea behind art was very far from being competitive, it’s a way of expressing oneself, and there are no teams on every side, you don’t get grades on your art, you do you and you get to decide what your art means. There’s no competition in that.” Now, he almost looked lost in thought – _soft_ , was what Yahaba’s mind supplied him with. As if he’d forgotten to be angry.

The room was silent again. Yahaba hadn’t stopped staring since Shirabu had started talking, but now apparently, he was done, and Yahaba was still captivated. He was aware that everything Shirabu had just said was true, but he was contradicting himself, and he probably didn’t want to be told that.

“You’re contradicting yourself.” Yahaba mentally kicked himself. This could be very, very interesting though.

“Haah?” Shirabu fixed him with a look. His eyes didn’t show any more panic. But Yahaba had found another reason to keep talking to this guy – he was intriguing, to say the least. “What do you mean by that, fuckwad?”

“I _mean_ , you should stop spraying in our neighborhoods if you didn’t want art to be a challenge,” Yahaba glared, though somehow, he felt like he hadn’t managed to look intimidating. 

Shirabu rolled his eyes. Seems like all the panic from earlier must be gone now. “Are you hearing yourself? You seem to be close to Oikawa, obviously you must know this is a personal thing between him and Ushijima, and seriously, _our neighborhoods_?” He snorted a laugh. “Don’t make it sound like you’re some kind of street gang. You’re a bunch of teens who are mad at society and hang out in a garage because your parents want you to be conformists, and so are we.” Yahaba held his gaze when he said that, hadn’t wanted to look away for a single second, and for a moment, he wondered if things were better this way, or if things were going to escalate and he would actually be calling his friends a gang soon. Surely, they were already doing enough illegal stuff to come across as one.

Absentmindedly, he nodded. “You’re right.” It took a minute for Yahaba’s brain to comprehend everything Shirabu had said, and then, “you make it sound so easy, _it’s a personal thing_. Why does our solidarity make us dislike great art and people with the same mindset?”

Shirabu smirked. _“Here we are, trapped in the amber of the moment. There is no why.”_

“Quit quoting Vonnegut out of context, dipshit. I’m serious.” Yahaba made an effort to sound annoyed, but they both knew he was amused and kind of grateful to finally have found someone with his taste in literature _, thank fuck_.

“For real, now, I think solidarity hits the bullseye. But doesn’t everyone like a little bit competition?” Now, Shirabu looked contemplative, and Yahaba wondered how the fuck he even got to this point. He was supposed to know Shirabu from unclear descriptions and the underlying meaning of his more personal, more abstract works. He was pretty sure striking up a deep conversation with his designated rival had never been on his bucket list. “I mean, it’s kinda playful, right? Nobody’s seriously hurting anyone, we just try to out-art each other, and the group dynamics make it all seem like a big feud. If I’m serious, I would be way more upset if it was you who was painting over my mural right now. We both know we’re on the same wavelength. This rivalry thing between us, it’s exciting, isn’t it?”

If Yahaba was being perfectly honest with himself, he was very flattered about Shirabu comparing himself to him, nevertheless he had no idea how to respond to that, so he stuck with the truth. “My friends aren’t actually painting over your mural right now, I just wanted to see you react to it.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “I can definitely do that later though, since you seem to find it so much more satisfying…” Yahaba trailed off, partly because Shirabu’s eye was twitching, and partly because he didn’t want to, say, accidentally compliment his art. 

Not that he didn’t deserve all the compliments.

When Shirabu went silent for a while, looking up at the ceiling and into those disgusting pale-yellow lights lost in thought, Yahaba recalled the last time they’d seen each other.

It had been a fleeting moment, the air pulsating between them like his own heartbeat, running parallelly through the streets of a district he couldn’t recall the name of. The cops had been after them, after both of them, and catching the other’s eye for a millisecond while sprinting through backstreets, never stopping to catch their breaths, they had both realized it was a game. Not between the punks and the cops, nor between Seijoh and Shiratorizawa, but between them. Between Shirabu and Yahaba, both of them wearing black combat boots, jumping over trashcans, knowing that it didn’t really matter if they got caught. They were sprinting, racing for the first place, Yahaba having abandoned his precious bag of spray cans in warm colors at the scene of the crime where he had been about to finish his lettering of “save the ocean”, Shirabu with a gray one in hand.

They had known it then, when they had seen each other’s faces and had known, _this person is my rival_ , they had known it was a game.

Surprisingly, it was Shirabu who spoke up first.

“Remember when we saw each other in Taihaku-ku? When we met for the first time?”

 _Of course_ they were thinking about the same thing, and when Yahaba tried to look into his eyes, his bangs were hiding them. A shame, really, his eyes looked so nice even in this horrible lighting. 

“I’m not sure we can call that a real meeting, Kenjirou.” It was true, they really only got a glimpse of each other that day, but of course, it would have been memorable for both of them. Of course.

Shirabu snorted.

“Given name basis, huh? I know you guys at Seijoh do that, familiarity and all that, but how the fuck do you even _know_ my name?” Oh, he was feeling playful now, all right. Even though Yahaba was looking at the side, fighting back a blush, he knew two could play this game.

Also, he didn’t tell him not to use his name. _Victory!_

“Don’t be shy now, _Ken-chan_. That’s what Satori calls you, anyway. You can call me Shigeru, too, if you wa- _oof!_ ” Yup, Shirabu just rammed his shoulder into his chest. When had Yahaba turned all the way to face him, anyway? 

“Like hell I’m going to call you Shigeru, shitface.” Shirabu was scowling, but his tone was teasing, playful. Yahaba realized that he might be enjoying this as much as he was. _Wait a second, wasn’t I panicking a minute ago?_ “I might just call you Shitgeru, though.”

Nope, no way.

Shirabu was now laughing at Yahaba, who was stuck mid-indignant gasp while also fiddling with his fingers behind his back. And his laugh was heavenly.

The sound was resonating through the ugly waiting room, it could easily have lasted for an hour though Yahaba knew it couldn’t have been more than ten seconds, half a minute, at most. Shirabu threw his head back and squeezed his eyes shut and it made Yahaba’s own eyes glint with joy, he was sure; Shirabu’s smile was beautiful and for some reason Yahaba imagined it was as rare as it was precious, that he had just gotten to witness something very special. The corny pun wasn’t even funny.

_Fuck, I’m so gay._

When Shirabu calmed down, he looked at Yahaba, his eyes searching, almost expectant, but Yahaba looked away. That had been pretty damn embarrassing – not because of the joke, but because of his reaction. Thus, he decided to ignore the quiet hurricane in his chest in favor of staring back at the greasy spot on the floor across the room. _Even if it appeared because of someone dropping food, you’re basically handicapped here thanks to the cuffs, so the person must have had, like, a burrito in their shirt pocket – given they had a huge shirt pocket – which must have fallen out when they leaned forward. RIP criminal burrito._

“Hey, Shigeru, I didn’t think your pride would be insulted this easily but are you okay?”

At that, Yahaba’s head shot up, a victorious smirk immediately finding its way onto his lips. Embarrassment aside, bickering with this guy was fun. Not that he’d ever admit that.

“What was that, _Kenjirou-kun_?”

“Oh God, I take it back. Eat shit, Yahaba.” There was no real bite in his words – Shirabu was obviously making an effort to fight back a smile. _Adorable._

“No, you said it. You said my name, say it again.” Yahaba was full-on grinning like a fool now, and Shirabu was the embarrassed one. Oh, how the tables have turned.

“I won’t say it and you’re full of shit. You were definitely just playing to get me to say it in the first place-“ he stopped, catching the eye of a tall cop across the room, and suddenly, all the tension from earlier seemed to seep back into both their bodies, filling their lungs, making their fingers stiff. 

Both of them were suddenly angry again, remembering where they were and who, and Yahaba realized he hadn’t asked Shirabu what had happened that could have brought him here. Had he also been spraying with his friends, being the last one to notice a police car driving up and being too slow in his movements to escape? Or had he just been a bystander, a lookout for Satori and Eita as they had been doing whatever the hell Shiratoris did to provoke others?

He was glad he hadn’t asked, though. Obviously, Shirabu did not want to think about it.

He knew what was coming when he caught Shirabu’s eye one last time, the ticking of a clock they hadn’t noticed was there an irritating rope pulling them both back into the reality of the situation, and the pretty boy’s copper eyes were displaying so many emotions at once, it was overwhelming, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away and face the interrogation.

The cop’s voice was rough, strained, it emitted a ridiculous _ugh-I-don’t-wanna-do-this_ -vibe, as if he had anything to worry about. “Yahaba Shigeru, come to room two, first door on the ri-“

“I fucking know, thank you.” Before the pig had the chance to walk up to them and haul Yahaba out of his seat, he stood up himself, defiantly – he wobbled a bit due to his lack of balance _, man, fuck handcuffs_ , and his eyes didn’t leave Shirabu’s as he took a single step back in the direction of the cop’s annoyed huffs. “See you later, Kenjirou.”

With that he turned around and walked straight past the man into the interrogation room.


	2. Biting Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shirabu gets interrogated and needs a breather.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yoooo I'm sorry fellas, this is such a late chapter and I'm not really happy with it, but here y'all go!
> 
> I'm probably updating the tags on this story soon, so be prepared for an actual consistent plot coming your way (yeah I did just)
> 
> As you'll notice, the POV will be switching from Yahaba to Shirabu every chapter!
> 
> TW for a panic attack (not explicit)

“See you later, Kenjirou.”

Without looking back, he disappeared behind the bulky cop inside a corridor Shirabu had grown to dread.

Well, that had been interesting, to say the least.

_The eyebrow piercing is new._  

It was a single, shiny silver knob, just above his long, right eyebrow. Shirabu remembered the thin, black lip ring, the single black Helix on his left ear, and his silver orbitals. Now, there was an eyebrow piercing, too. 

Shirabu didn’t like piercings.

But damn, did they look good on Yahaba. 

For a second, he wished he could run after the other boy, if only for his calming presence and fierce, distracting teasing. 

With a shaky little sigh, Shirabu leaned backwards and closed his eyes. He was wary and would have been twitchy too, if it hadn’t been for those fucking _cuffs,_ and he was itching to swipe a hand across his forehead and push his bangs to the side. They were sticky with sweat and all Shirabu wanted was a shower, a cider, and a nice sofa to fall back onto. He tried to tell himself that it was over soon anyway, that he was going to walk out of there in half an hour and could just go straight back to the meeting point, unfazed. He tried to tell himself that it wasn’t even that bad, he hadn’t done anything wrong, which was the motherfucking truth, but it was undeniable that he was, plain and simple, at the receiving end of a corrupt system’s need for punishing others. 

Now really wasn’t the time to get worked up about this, though. Shirabu still felt a dull headache in the back of his skull, like tears gathering in the wrong place, and he silently wished for a comforting presence. For Ushijima-san. For Taichi or Tendou or even Tsutomu, that cheeky bastard. Or for Yahaba, who had seemed on the verge of exploding himself and had still wobbled over to him, to annoy him and maybe to start closing a metaphorical gap. 

Oh, what he wouldn’t give for a punching bag at that moment. 

Shirabu could feel an empty presence approaching, and he knew they were going to interrogate him now, too. Judging from the weird, pretentious look the cop was shooting him, he knew this guy wasn’t new in the business. If Shirabu remembered correctly, that man had been the one to bring Yahaba in, just a few minutes before he had been led into the station himself. He remembered that guy hovering around the door to the waiting room, talking about “some kid” to a colleague who should have clearly been busy doing their job. Uninformed policemen with their flawed coordination, they probably thought they were being really clever, interrogating both him and Yahaba at the same time. _Trying to find out what we know about each other, about the others and whatever alibi we would be stupid enough to make up. Probably getting off from arresting two guys the same age who appear to know each other, how great, where’s the promotion?_

They were going to try and ask Shirabu about Yahaba and his friends, he knew it. He _knew_ it. And Shirabu knew it wasn’t his obligation to protect them. Hell, it wasn’t like he even knew anything about Yahaba himself, apart from his taste in art and literature and how loyal he was and how dizzying his grin felt, he couldn’t rat him out if he wanted to. 

And he really didn’t want to.

Parts of their earlier conversation kept replaying in Shirabu’s mind and he wondered just how much their little rivalry really meant. There was the thrill of competition and the blind devotion to their respective friend groups… There was no denying that, if they were to become friends, their relationship would not be an easy one – though Shirabu kind of felt willing to make an effort. He wasn’t sure why.

Either way, the police knew about their friends and what they got up to. Obviously, they would also know that he and Yahaba didn’t normally collaborate thanks to their data, or even that they hadn’t talked to each other properly before today – _because, let’s listen in on the criminals’ conversations while we’re at it, huh? What’s a little invasion of privacy at this point_ – which led Shirabu to believe they’d try to get Yahaba and him to rat _each other_ out… _Well, tough luck, assholes._ No matter how little he knew about the guy, Yahaba was undeniably loyal and way too compassionate a person to expose Shirabu or his friends. He didn’t have to worry about that.

He was just really fucking pissed at the pigs for trying to play them against each other, is all.

Frowning, he hadn’t even noticed he had stood up and was now walking alongside Yahaba’s cop into the interrogation corridor. Shirabu did his best to summon a completely neutral and aggravating poker face while walking on dirty tiles past two ugly wooden doors. The first room seemed to be occupied, though he wasn’t sure – behind the second door, some idiot was giving Yahaba hell, and Shirabu tried not to sneer.

Bored Cop held the third door open for him, and Shirabu decided that he could spare a little glare. The man it was directed at just rolled his eyes, not even trying to be subtle, and let the heavy, dark door fall closed behind them.

Shirabu saw no point in resisting the process, so he silently walked over to the small gray table in the middle of the room – _just like in the movies, jeez_ – and walked around it to settle in the plastic chair facing the extremely subtle and unsuspicious giant mirror. If only he weren’t handcuffed, someone would have been getting a nice view of his middle finger right about now.

The first thing he noted was that they really had managed to find plastic chairs more uncomfortable than those in the waiting room. Last time he had sat in one of these rooms, his chair had been identical to the abominations a few meters down the hall, so he knew they were making an effort to make everyone as uncomfortable as possible. Was the purpose to make criminals talk faster? Make their asses hurt from these terrible positions so that they would do anything to be allowed to stand up? In any case, Shirabu was so very delighted to know this was where Japan’s tax money went.

The second thing he noticed was the way he was being regarded. He could almost feel it in his aura – this cop was different.

“Okay, kid,” the cop started, sitting down across from Shirabu and holding eye contact, “I know your record, and I know you didn’t mean any harm.” His stare felt condescending. _Here it comes_ – “Why don’t we just talk about what happened for a bit, you tell me what you know and then you can go home?”

Shirabu felt sick. Not on a thousand pages could he describe the hatred he felt in his soul whenever some unrightfully privileged douche, sponsored by the government, took the liberty to look down on him.

Slowly, calmly, “I burned down an orphanage and fucked your wife.”

Screw rationality, this guy was either stupid enough to believe Shirabu had been roped into something and was now going to sell out the others, or he was deliberately playing nice to get him to admit that yeah, he was a naughty kid, but also one naïve enough to trust him.

The man huffed and told Shirabu to answer the question. Again, and again. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t get any nicer.

Shirabu had to admit, at some point it always got a bit boring, and he decided to stop playing the fool. It wasn’t helping his current mental state, anyway – might as well tell the truth now.

“Why do you even have to ask?” Annoyed, he bit his tongue as not to accidentally say _we_ instead of _I_. “I was putting up stickers.”

Looking close to rolling his eyes once more, the pig prodded, “Good… where?”

Actually, the answer to that was… all over the place. There was barely a governmental surface in the district without at least a couple of them. “At the District Court.” Yeah, he was going to keep his answers nicely short and frustrating. He did not have a shred of sympathy for that cop.

“Where else?”

Shirabu stared at him. 

He had been caught putting up “illegal” activism stickers on the side of the district’s legislative outpost’s building, the others had heard the police cars pull up and had run fast enough not to be spotted – Shirabu, on the other hand, had been standing a few meters away, lost in thought as he had been thinking about a new spray project on that exact building. They had been on him too fast, had been too rough on him, and to Shirabu, the reason was obvious.

They had seen him around, though never arrested for the same felony twice. They knew he was a troublemaker, and they made sure to catch kids like him in the act of pretty much anything. Having been marked as a “danger to society”, they would be disposed of, the way the government saw fit. Because obviously displaying the general public’s discomfort with important matters was to be treated as a serious crime.

And when they did catch you, they would try everything to get you to admit what you’d done. Or hadn’t done, that was fine by them too. Because this really wasn’t about justice anymore.

“Shirabu, we talked to your father already. He said you have been out and about vandalizing every night, care to tell me what he was referring to?” That bastard did _not_ just look smug. Wow.

“By vandalizing, he meant going out and drawing on the sidewalk with chalks. Do you think I invite my father to join me for all my nocturnal activities? Maybe that’s how your family rolls, _officer,_ and I’m not judging, but my father really has no idea what he’s talking about.”

Perceptive as he was, Shirabu could see the cop’s left eye twitch infinitesimally. _Good._

He continued, “I’m really bad at the whole crime thing, alright? I tried a couple of times, I got caught by you guys every time,” he smiled sweetly and leaned forward, “so after this time, I’m giving up. I learned my lesson, you’ve done a great job.”

Tired Cop wasn’t buying it, unfortunately. “Sure, and I’m Italian. Stop smiling like that, you’re obviously not concerned about public safety and you don’t care about society-“

“You got that second one right.” 

“Don’t interrupt me. You should focus on school and becoming a productive and actively participating member of society, I know you won’t believe me, but there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.” Now, that one didn’t actually seem to hate Shirabu’s guts – his eyes weren’t ablaze, maybe a little pleading but there was no hostility in them.

So Shirabu spoke up. “You know, I wasn’t about to discuss this with you, pig, but you don’t know my reasons for wanting to rebel, and problems can’t be fixed by nodding along and shutting all the bad things out. If I could rely on the _police force_ to protect me from everything, you bet I would, but we both know it’s not that easy.” It wasn’t as hard to keep calm at this point, though his fight-or-flight-instinct hadn’t really left his tense limbs.

“You know…” For some reason, this guy really wanted to talk to a juvenile delinquent, huh? Maybe the ring was a fake and he was, in reality, a very lonely man. Shirabu wanted to chuckle at that. “Acting like you’re completely independent from society doesn’t really solve your problems, either. You can act up all you want, but you cannot escape the world you live in. And don’t get me wrong – try to change it, change it for the better by any means, but rules are in place for a reason, kid.” A pause. “And my name isn’t _pig,_ it’s Makishima. I’d say it’s _Makishima-san_ to you, but, well…”

_But I have zero interest in faking respect towards you and your kind, yeah._

“No offense, _Makishima-sama,_ ” Shirabu started, drawing out the last syllable, “but no matter how often I’m –“ _we’re_ – “told that rules are good for me, that they’re all only in place to protect everyone, the opposite becomes clearer by the day.” The world out there was rotting, the people were in the midst of it and it felt as though everyone wanted to live, not to survive, pretend that life was the most precious thing on Earth, and simultaneously not care about life itself at all. After a moment, the cop seemed to know what to say. “I’m thirsty,” Shirabu quipped before he could respond.

To his surprise, the man did not, in fact, get upset, which was what Shirabu had been playing at, and he did not seem to want to interrogate him until he caved. “You can ask Shigori-san by the entrance if you can have a cup. We’re almost done here, anyway, so you can go get one yourself.” His expression had changed, if he had looked bored, yet empathetic before, he was now seemingly giving up on receiving information from Shirabu. What he had said must have stirred something within the man, but Shirabu did not care enough to contemplate his own words again. 

The next five minutes went by in a blur – the cop asked him if he had been alone, he said he had. He asked him if he had done this before, what kind of stickers he had put up, if he knew anyone else engaging in such activities. Shirabu did not have much to say. 

“So you really don’t know the guy from earlier, huh?” Shirabu knew that he was referring to Yahaba, whom he had expected to be brought up, really, but he wasn’t in the mood to think about that guy in that moment. For some reason, he had let his guard down earlier, he had liked Yahaba’s company, and now he feared his feelings were written all over his face. 

Putting an effort into controlling his expression, he decided to tell the truth, since no cop would get actual information out of it. “I met him, once. We didn’t even talk that time though, today was the first time I could make out his face properly, actually.” He took a deep breath and hoped it wasn’t too obvious. “He isn’t involved in anything I do.”

It seemed like the man wanted to say something right then, but he seemed to decide against it, as he lowered his eyes to the table and started writing something inside a pale blue file. Shirabu watched him. He needed to take a breath, he couldn’t.

In no time, as he had been told, Shirabu was uncuffed and led back into the main part of the building. It felt different, now, with the ugly walls and tired cops, some excuses for house plants that seemed to be rotting away like the people around them, conversation and _noise_ everywhere. When he arrived at the front desk, he didn’t ask for a cup of water, he needed fresh air, but as soon as he pushed the heavy metal door open, he heard a soft, but firm “Shirabu.” 

Shirabu turned around and saw Tired Cop take a few steps toward him. He expected a scolding, a warning, maybe, but what he hadn’t expected was what came out of the man’s mouth a second later. 

“Take care, kid.” 

In a daze, he nodded, shaken and wide-eyed, and when he turned around, he all but ran down the stairs into the small tunnel. 

He took a breath. 

Shirabu had always really liked this place. The whole construction was kind of weird, like it didn’t quite fit into this world. It was a shame the local police station was located right here, since this small tunnel could have been a great place to hang out, spray, gather his thoughts. The tunnel, which only he called that, was a long, narrow alley leading out into the street on one side and opening way to a small park for residents on the other. On each side of the tunnel, there were a number of doors that Shirabu had never bothered to count, and each of them led to a staircase with a few apartments – he had never been inside any of them save for the police station, which must have been built differently, but he had seen people enter and leave through the doors, and he could imagine well enough what the inside of this building had to look like.

Shirabu hurried deeper into the tunnel, away from the street, the people, and leaned against the wall between a door and a dumpster. He was breathing heavily now, but he kept telling himself to calm down – he knew why he was reacting like this now, and he knew it was temporary, but all that didn’t really help.

Then he sat down, stains on his pants be damned, and started hectically clenching and unclenching his hands. The tense claws he was forming were starting to hurt after a few minutes, but he still couldn’t organize his thoughts, knowing that giving his fingers something to do usually helped, he just kept on going, it wasn’t like there was much else he could do.

The breathing exercises seemed to be effective, after another five minutes, Shirabu felt fresh air enter his lungs and it didn’t hurt, at least not terribly. Now, he could finally reflect on everything that had happened. He pulled out his journal.

The small, black leather notebook, which Shirabu had been using as his “journal” for venting in his own way, was stored in the left inside pocket of his bomber jacket, and when he pulled it out with shaky fingers, he could already feel himself letting off some steam. Flipping it open to the most recent page, he started to draw circles and spirals with his pen, right underneath a disastrous drawing of a baseball bat, and after Shirabu had filled half a page with random squiggles, he started writing.

_just fucking stickers_

_why was I so slow_

_shit shit shit shit shit_

_I could collab with Yahaba_

_why do I want Yahaba to like me???_

_Makishima_

_what if dad finds out what if dad finds out what if dad-_

Footsteps, Shirabu had been too immersed in his own thoughts to notice the footsteps coming towards him. Frantically, he slammed the notebook shut, causing a small echo in the area, and when he looked up, he caught sight of a wide-eyed Yahaba. He looked a bit like a deer caught in headlights.

“Oh, uh, sorry – did I startle you?” Yahaba looked a little sheepish, a little worried, and Shirabu thought that  _“startle”_ was an understatement. He sat up straight and hoped that his uneasiness wasn’t apparent.

“Kinda, yeah. What the hell are you doing here?” _Straight to the point, well done, Kenjirou._  

At this, Yahaba looked even more sheepish. “I, uh, I guess I was looking for you?” Shirabu’s eyes widened, and so did Yahaba’s. “Ahh, no, well, I mean, you seemed upset earlier, and I wanted to make sure you’re okay-“ 

“Say no more,” Shirabu interrupted him – he didn’t care if he sounded rude, this idiot was invading his space, and while he had needed Yahaba to calm him down earlier and he knew that he probably should have looked for a more private area, he preferred to be left alone in that moment. So Shirabu got up, nodded at Yahaba, and walked straight past him. “I’m fine, thanks man. You can go.” He made sure to have turned his back on Yahaba, then, so there was no need to establish eye contact.

But for some reason, that damn brat wasn’t satisfied with that. Yahaba stomped after Shirabu and grabbed him by the shoulder. Annoyed, he shook the gloved hand off, but Yahaba had managed to make Shirabu face him – he didn’t want to look him in the eye, he couldn’t, and Shirabu silently thanked the Gods that Yahaba didn’t grab his face and force him to do so. But in Yahaba’s voice, he could make out anger – the same anger from earlier, from when he had been freaking out in his chair, right before Yahaba had come to sit next to him. Some weird kind of supportive anger. “Don’t say that when it’s clearly not true. I don’t want to leave you alone right now, and believe me, I know that’s what you want, but speaking from experience, that isn’t what you need right now.”

At that, Shirabu hissed, “shut up, okay? Shut the fuck up.” He didn’t think he needed to elaborate, but evidently, he did. Yahaba did not let go, neither did he back off in the slightest. “We’re not the same person, I’m not you, and you have no fucking clue what I _need right now._ Just,” Shirabu gasped furiously, “just leave me _alone_ already!”

Something seemed to have clicked in the guy, _thank God,_ seeing as Yahaba softly released Shirabu’s shoulder, and took a small step back. Shirabu was eternally thankful, because yeah, he was used to his requests getting ignored, even when shouting, but Yahaba seemed to have at least a little respect for him and what he wanted. Still, he guessed humans were just doomed to be morons, because the boy started talking to him, _again._

Yahaba sounded rough, but a little sweet, it was audibly obvious that Yahaba had been yelling a lot but was doing his best to keep his voice soothingly soft _. This dude should do ASMR._ “Listen, I get where you’re coming from – believe me, I do,” he added quickly, when he noticed Shirabu scowling at the ground, “but let me at least keep you company. I know you don’t like the idea, and I’ll keep my distance, I just want to make sure you’re okay. That’s it.” Yahaba sounded genuinely worried, Shirabu noticed, and he couldn’t help but feel on edge because of that. He did kind of like the guy, and he supposed he could enjoy his company, but who _does_ that?

Slowly, he raised his head to stare back into Yahaba’s pleading eyes – and yup, that was where he screwed up, because how could he say no to genuinely desperate eyes this _caring?_  

Shirabu was probably abandoning everything he had been taught from his senpais and friends, from painful experience, when he decided to believe Yahaba. 

He decided to give in and let Yahaba stay with him until he calmed down completely.

Yahaba’s eyes grew more worrisome by the second and Shirabu nodded curtly, which made the other boy perk up a little. “Fine, dumbass. Stay with me, or whatever.” Once again, he cast his eyes down at the concrete under their boots and scowled, though now out of a slightly different reason.

He could not believe himself, in that moment. Why did he agree to let Yahaba stay? Why didn’t he lash out at him, why didn’t he tell him to fuck off just once more? Shirabu was self-aware enough to know he liked Yahaba’s presence for some reason, and that he was undeniably and inexplicably calming, he felt _good_ to be around, but he also knew this wasn’t a reason to let his guard down. Not around his closest friends, nor around someone who was practically a complete stranger. This matter only made Shirabu freak out internally a little bit more, and he wanted to scream _I changed my mind, go away, I don’t want you around when I’m vulnerable,_ but he didn’t, he couldn’t.

Shirabu really didn’t understand himself, and he knew he would have to work through this later, but right now, he needed to keep his mind occupied. It had a visitor, and he wouldn’t let that visitor snoop around. Stuffing his journal back into his pocket, Shirabu swiftly turned around and started walking out of the tunnel, into the daylight, and a second or two later he heard Yahaba running to catch up with him. “Where are we going, Kenjirou?”

Again with the given name. Shirabu craned his neck and looked at the concrete ceiling, identical to the ground save for the lack of litter, holding back a sigh. He was just going to make the best of this day, of Yahaba’s company. “We’re going trespassing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am updating this at exactly 4:20 AM and it absolutely on purpose and also absolutely necessary. I need Doritos.
> 
> follow my [tumblr](https://fuckgravityimdavidtennantshair.tumblr.com) for memes and life updates nobody asked for!
> 
> Next chapter: the boys do crimes and talk about feelings

**Author's Note:**

> There's going to be a lot of self-projecting in this, so sorry, but I hope it isn't too OOC!
> 
> Check out my [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/fuckgravityimdavidtennantshair) if you're interested in random shitposts about Waluigi and a useless lesbian screaming about ships (yup thats me) ^^
> 
> Next chapter: it's interrogation time my dudes


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